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by DrunkGerbil



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Paparazzi, Post-Fracas, The Fracas (Top Gear)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27281008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrunkGerbil/pseuds/DrunkGerbil
Summary: They aren’t the type for walking down the street in each other’s arms, but now, as the paps haunt them after the dreadful night of the fracas, Jeremy wishes he could reach out and pull his partner close.
Relationships: Jeremy Clarkson/Richard Hammond
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Home

Jeremy and Richard aren’t really the type for PDA’s. For the entire duration of their relationship (nine years, eleven months, two days and counting), there have only been a handful of photos of them holding hands, and one of them kissing. There are a few more of him having a hand on Richard’s knee, wrapped around his leg, but that’s because sometimes it takes physical contact to keep Hammond from jiggling it. Too much energy in that little body. Hammond does it himself, occasionally, sitting back and hugging his knee. It keeps James from murdering him. 

No, they aren’t the type for walking down the street in each other’s arms, but now, as the paps haunt them after the dreadful night of the _fracas_ , Jeremy wishes he could reach out and pull his partner close. The three feet distance between them feels like a mile. 

Jeremy knows he looks tired and old, worn out and washed out and a million other synonyms for defeated. Hammond, who walks in front of him, looks deeply annoyed with everyone around him. Rightfully so, because the press are crowding in on them, yelling questions, demanding statements. He hasn’t said a word about the whole affair to the public, but he’s said a few choice words about it in private, where only Jeremy could hear. They are both crushed that their poky little motoring show is over and done now. 

Of course, with all the shouting and gloating and the bold, all caps headlines, there come the rumors. Sources claim, and if Jeremy finds out who they are, there will be hell to pay, that the struggles of the past year have put a strain on their relationship. (They have. No denying it) Now, everybody and their mum think they know that the fracas were the final nail in their coffin. 

The end of Top Gear and the Top Queers all in one. 

As an added bonus, a removal van was sighted driving into their property (it’s Jeremy’s property, technically, but he hasn’t thought of it as such since Hammond had moved in a decade ago). There are renovations due, which have been arranged months ago when nobody could have foreseen the turn of events. When nobody would have assumed that a removal van meant Hammond leaving.

But they do assume, now. 

Jeremy thinks, in the part of his brain that isn’t busy wallowing in misery and self-recriminations, that it’s quite impolite to ask someone if they are planning on leaving their partner _in said partner’s presence_ , but that’s exactly what a so called reporter does, blocking their path and nearly shoving the microphone into Richard’s eye. 

“Richard!” he yells, and they always go for first names, as if they know them. “Richard! Is it true? Are you moving out?”

And for a moment, Jeremy is terrified of the answer. Not because he thinks that Hammond will say ‘yes’. He wouldn’t ever. Not even if they hated each other’s guts. Not out on the street into twenty paps’ cameras. But Jeremy is scared that it’s going to be one of those classic, diplomatic, empty answers that all people in the public’s eye have perfectioned. The kind that screams, “Everything’s shit, but my manager told me not to talk about it,” wrapped in a pretty package of hot air and meaningless pleasantries. The kind that could mean Hammond actually is on the way out. 

Richard stops, with Jeremy coming to an abrupt halt at his shoulder, and asks, in the confused Hammond’s-an-idiot voice that could have been straight from one of their sillier items, “Why would we be moving out of our home?” 

He sounds so deeply baffled that Jeremy can barely keep the startled wheeze of laughter contained. And then, _then_ , Hammond looks up at him and asks Jeremy, “Where would we even move to?” 

Jeremy doesn’t kiss him then and there, in front of all the paps, but he really wants to. All he can do at first is gaze down, stricken by how fond he is of that man. He’s met by a mischievous twinkle in Hammond’s eyes, and Jeremy knows he must look a love-sick fool. 

He says, “No idea,” as dismissively as he can under the circumstances, trying to recapture his bluster and doing quite a good job at it. When the reporter and his cohorts are a bit stunned by the answer, Jeremy plants a hand in the middle of Hammond’s back, and pushes him forward through the throng. He doesn’t let go until they reach their car and can escape. 

Then they drive home.


End file.
